Our Avenger
by FallenAngel
Summary: From Gotham's mud a shadow was born


Disclaimer: I in no way own Batman or Bruce Wayne or Gordon. I do own their greatest hits albums though.

AN: My first fanfic story since I was about 14 (except for a short lame attempt about 3 years ago) so please be gentle. This is a oneshot and focuses upon a scene in the movie I found most captivating. It references Jewish theology (i.e. the golem). The Golem was a creature formed by man, whose creator inscribed the word "emet" (meaning "life") on the "man's" forehead. With the erasure of one letter "e" (leaving "met" which means "death") the creature died. While living the creature was under the complete control of its creator. A paper containing the word could also be slipped into the creature's mouth. Hopefully this isn't too confusing . I appreciate all reviews; even critiques as I'd like to try to write fanfic and this is my real first try. Thanks guy!

BTW The golem referenced refers to Rabbi Loew's golem, which is said to have lived in the 16th century, and became an out-of-control killer of both gentiles and Jews. Also I'm guessing Brucie isn't Jewish, but IMO you don't have to be a part of a religion to relate to it's stories.

Thanks for reading!

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Gotham's Mud

There are times he wonders his origin, his being. On such days he thinks back to that night, the night a little boy lost both parents, and wonders if someone carved words upon a dying boy's forehead. Words that brought him back from beyond, reclaimed him from the path his parents now followed; words, which formed him. Sometimes Bruce Wayne wondered if he was a golem.

He'd first heard the word or heard of such a creature from stories told before bedtime. This was back in childhood, before he knew the words "Anti-Semitism", "Holocaust" or "Hitler" or "Gestapo". His mother's explanations offered little history or motive, only telling him that something horrible had once happened and that a hero had been needed to put things right, to stand up to those that wronged or hurt or killed the innocent. Innocent little boys, like Bruce, she'd said needed a hero, but sometimes things don't work out as we've planned. Martha Wayne had had high aspirations for her only child, but felt no need to force greatness.

"With one slip of paper," she'd said, her hands forming and molding imaginary bonds, "the lump of clay was transformed, giving one man the power to do great good or great evil."

Bruce imagines the word has been etched upon his forehead or a torn pager slipped into his mouth, carved into his very thoughts, almost separating the minds of Bruce Wayne, billionaire's son, and Batman, Gotham's protector. With one more tap of the pen, one more shock a part of him will die, disappearing as with dust in the wind. The man that is left behind, the hollow empty man who entertains and laughs that wooden laugh, will fall leaving few with want or need to mourn. He does not want them to, it's best to remember his parents and not the boy who shared their name.

His suspicions had only been confirmed with Harvey Dent's treatment of the Batman. He'd summoned Bruce's other half to the roof that night and yet upon Batman's arrival had felt no need to immediately address him or greet him. Nor had Gordon. They had held their meeting and then turned to their tool, their golem, to fulfill their wishes. Batman had not minded. He knew his role. It was Bruce, that boy, the one whose mother's had read stories to him, the one who had attended second and third and fourth grade with no familial send-off, that noticed and slunk away, knowing he was not needed. Batman had been lurking even in those childhood hours and Bruce had grown used to his presence. It was, if anything, a comfort not to be alone.

The Golem of Bruce's childhood, that unassuming lump of clay, had become a menace, a mankiller, a wrenching pain that could not be controlled. There is, Bruce acknowledges, this threat. Power cannot be handled without caution and the bat is nothing if not pure bursting energy, menace and hatred. He imagines one day he will submit, lose and the boy will die. The shallow husk will fall away and the dark shadow will loom, so little light can linger in darkness that sometimes it's best to smother brightness and let the dark reign.

Monsters have no need for little boys.


End file.
